


in our bedroom (before the war)

by prosodiical



Category: Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri
Genre: F/F, Not-Quite-Friends with Benefits, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/pseuds/prosodiical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps it's the bright red of soil and native fungus in the preserves, the masses of colour in the Earth-style gardens hiding lovers giggling in alcoves, but the difference between them is most obvious and alien at the glass window where Deirdre is standing, watching her psionic Talents coax a mass of mindworms toward them. She looks beautiful, focused with the zeal of a scientist, but in a terrible, alien way that makes Corazon's teeth hurt to think of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in our bedroom (before the war)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luminare_ardua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminare_ardua/gifts).



> All the Skye/Santiago shippers seem to crawl out of the woodwork at Yuletide, and I was delighted to be assigned to you! It was so much fun writing this for you - I hope you like it!
> 
> Thanks a bunch to weakinteraction for the beta!

Deirdre's bases always feel more civilian than Corazon is comfortable with, and the unordered rush of scientists and engineers returning from the recreational commons when she walks past does nothing to ease it. It seems almost devoid of the military rigidity that she expects of her people, though Corazon knows there are soldiers here, too. Perhaps it's the bright red of soil and native fungus in the preserves, the masses of colour in the Earth-style gardens hiding lovers giggling in alcoves, but it is most obvious and alien at the glass window where Deirdre is standing, watching her psionic Talents coax a mass of mindworms toward them. She looks beautiful, focused with the zeal of a scientist, but in a terrible, alien way that makes Corazon's teeth hurt to think of it.

Deirdre glances at her when Corazon comes to a stop beside her, studying the oozing mass of worms. It's larger than a person, than a rover; it towers over the Talents, each worm as thick around as an arm. The technology to breed them, to override their natural instincts for human direction is something Corazon's own scientists have, of course, but she's limited their propagation out of a healthy wariness. Deirdre seems to have no such concerns. "Newly captured," Deirdre says, in explanation. "When they're that size - well, it's good to be careful."

"To rely on the native life here - " Corazon starts.

"It's a tool," says Deirdre, "as anything else." Corazon meets her gaze and looks away. "We've had no casualties after the initial trials."

Perhaps it's something in the Gaians' mindset, then; Corazon's own soldiers still fear, still die screaming and clawing at their faces as though they can remove their brains through their eye sockets. They can't, but the worms will. "If it works," she says, doubtfully, and the corner of Deirdre's mouth lifts in a smile. 

"We'll be ready," she says. "And you?"

"As though you need to ask," Corazon says. She has no doubt Deirdre's probe teams have told her the troop numbers, movements and drills just as Corazon's have told her about Deirdre's own. There's no need to be lax, despite their current alliance in the face of their upcoming war.

Deirdre meets her gaze and smiles. "Shall we?" she says, and gestures; Corazon obligingly follows her down the winding hallways of the base. It's instinct for her to remember the twists and turns, and Deirdre speaks of the research she's been conducting, the blooms of fungus and new mindworms they train from hatching. "We should have the locusts by the year's end," she says, and shows Corazon the laboratory from a viewing pane: clean and sterile, a few Talents looking determined as they unseal a container of buzzing mad insects. One goes down in a splatter of red blood fine as a mist against the white walls and white suits and Deirdre's mouth thins as she flicks the image away.

"A hazard," says Corazon, attempting to soften her tone. "They will be ready?"

"Yes," says Deirdre. "We will be." There is no hesitation in her voice, but when she studies Corazon it's with a familiar gleam Corazon knows. "But surely you did not come all this way to evaluate my research."

"I have my own concerns," Corazon says, and lets her fingers brush Deirdre's hand as she steps in, lowers her voice. "But perhaps in a more secure area?"

"Of course." Deirdre's room is only a teleporter and genetic lock away, a security measure that sends an odd tingle down Corazon's spine that she's never quite sure she'll be used to. The room is spacious and light, with large one-way glass windows which open onto the Centauri Preserve and an old-fashioned bed in one corner. There are mindworms breeding in the fungal blooms and Corazon says, "You haven't cleared out all his probe teams," as Deirdre walks to the window, her head bowed as she rests her fingertips against the glass.

"It's too much of a challenge," she says, "for each we discover, there are two more. You've found some?"

"My sergeants are loyal enough, but troop recruitment - " Corazon cuts herself off, shakes her head. "It's a battle he's primed for. He hopes to distract us with intrigue and politics." She can't keep the disgust out of her tone.

Deirdre's mouth twists, almost a smile. "Or, perhaps, to break our alliance. Corazon," she says, and meets Corazon's eyes. "My scientists' research has been sabotaged."

Corazon bites out, "If you think to blame me - " but Deirdre shakes her head.

"My probe team’s psionic training has overridden their resistance," she says. "But your military force..."

It hasn't been anything large. Corazon's bases are as orderly as ever, her soldiers standing in lines for inspection, but she remembers the feeling, either instinct from experience or paranoia trying to force her hand. But there had been whispers stopping in the hallways, the fistfights over the Spartan's recreational chants, and Corazon knows there was a fostering suspicion in her mind. She will have to step up the defences, once she returns. "I will keep it in mind," she says after a moment, and Deirdre's eyebrows pull together the slightest amount.

"Let us not keep secrets," she says. "If we are not fully aligned in this - "

"Now," says Corazon, with a hint of irony, "who is premature in their conclusions?" She lets out a sigh that's half for affect but Deirdre seems heartened by it, judging by the way her smile edges into her eyes. Corazon offers her a rare smile of her own. "We are together in this. And in the future, who knows? I would hope you continue to be my ally." 

"Simply allies?" Deirdre asks, her voice amused and coy, and she reaches the small distance between them, her fingertips on the delicate skin of Corazon's wrist. "Perhaps..."

But whatever she would say, Corazon captures it between them, Deirdre's breath lost on her lips parting under Corazon's own. It's familiar despite their wavering political ties, the way Deirdre’s hands run up the back of Corazon’s uniform shirt as Corazon presses a knee between her legs, the gasp of Deirdre’s breath rushing out of her when Corazon presses her against the wall of glass. “Perhaps,” Corazon says, against the curve of her neck, and Deirdre laughs and kisses her, biting playfully as she angles for leverage, her fingers at the clasp of Corazon’s pants.

"What would Zakharov think of us now," she says with amusement as she pushes Corazon back; Corazon goes willingly enough as she frees Deirdre's arms from her sleeves, exposing the soft, supple skin of her breasts, the pink of her nipples that tighten and peak when Corazon fondles them. Deirdre's mouth is warm and wet under Corazon's own, and Corazon huffs a laugh into the space between them.

"I doubt he gives it thought," she says, "as we should give him none." 

Deirdre's knees fold as Corazon pushes her back onto the bed, and Corazon kisses away Deirdre's flirtatious smile for the breathless noises of pleasure she makes under Corazon's fingers and tongue. Corazon eats her out until she’s gasping, squirming, until Deirdre pulls at her hair so she can reach Corazon’s mouth and return the favour.

But Deirdre seems to most appreciate the moments afterward, loves dragging her fingers over Corazon's over-sensitized skin and sucking lazy bruises into her neck even though they’ll be gone by morning. "Deirdre," Corazon protests, half-hearted in intent, but if she had to admit she would say she appreciates Deirdre’s slow, sensual approach. Corazon barely knows what she means when she adds, "Please."

"Hm," Deirdre says, into the curve of her shoulder, her fingers running enticing circles up Corazon's thigh. "I like that," she says, quiet, voice husky with her accent that lilts and sways. "Please, Corazon," she murmurs, and Corazon rolls over to kiss the teasing tone out of her voice, feeling languid and warm.

"Do you miss it?" Corazon asks, without thought. Deirdre's skin is shaded red from reflection of light on the soil and it's only a moment later Corazon realises it's hardly -

"Earth?" Deirdre asks. She doesn't pull away, but her expression turns considering, distant. "It was home," she says, and she absentmindedly tangles her fingers in Corazon's hair. "But I don't miss it, exactly. Free Scotland had its problems."

All the history Corazon studied, wars and their leaders, countries and their divisions, is so far away from their lives here, and she voices the thought. "But I had few ties to my country," she says. "Even after the rebellion - politicians are all the same." She sighs, already starting to feel her responsibilities weigh on her once more, and swings her legs to the side of the bed, watching the life through the glass. "Even aboard the _Unity_..."

Deirdre shifts behind her, coming to rest her chin on Corazon's shoulder, bare breasts against Corazon's back as Deirdre wraps her arms around Corazon's shoulders, and presses a smile into the curve of Corazon's neck. "It wasn't all terrible," she says, and Corazon remembers recognising Deirdre's spark even then, the core strength of her hard as steel. Their temporary alliance then had been more a thing of necessity than desire but Deirdre's looks had been more lingering, her tone more flirtatious until Corazon had finally had enough and shoved her into a storage closet, kissing her until the smug smile had left her face.

"We were young, then." Corazon has lived here for decades, centuries longer than she ever had on Earth, without access to the highly prized longevity medications and treatments available there - they've developed their own here now, of course, but it's another facet of this life. Corazon often wonders if technology on Earth would have proceeded down the same paths, around the same corners, without the native threat and knowledge of the Planet to contend with.

"It's a new life," Deirdre says, and Corazon gives her a look that Deirdre mirrors, understanding shared between them.

"This planet has its horrors and wonders," Corazon says, "but also opportunity."

"More wonders than horrors, I think," says Deirdre, thoughtfully, and Corazon makes a half-hearted attempt at rolling her eyes that makes Deirdre smile. But Deirdre continues, sounding hesitant: "Have you ever wondered if there is - more to this Planet than we first thought?"

"Zakharov's research?" Corazon says, curious. "Fungal blooms mirroring a neural network, synapses in their connections?" She has only the essentials of knowledge, but the research her probe teams uncovered gave her scientists a new and strange fundamental paradigm they've begun to support as truth. "Deirdre," Corazon says; Deirdre's fingers are digging into her arm, her expression distant.

"He's discovered so much," Deirdre says, "and yet." Corazon turns slightly, brushing Deirdre's hair from her face, and Deirdre's expression softens, cools. "I suppose we will deal with him, one way or another."

"Together," Corazon says, "in this." 

Deirdre meets her eyes. There's something strange, considering and vulnerable in her expression, the pull of her eyebrows and the wry twist to her mouth. "Perhaps," she says, and Corazon does not know how much longer their goals will align, or their troops remain unthreatening to each other, or their lives follow the same path they're carving out of red soil and xenofungus - but she presses her lips to the corner of Deirdre's mouth, and as Deirdre turns her head to meet her Corazon lets the kiss linger and her teeth drag on Deirdre's bottom lip, slow and sensual and, she thinks, with something of a promise.

"Together," says Corazon, and for once adds no qualifiers, and lets Deirdre and her strange, almost unearthly smile push her back down on the bed once more.


End file.
